The Best in Me
by gigiwhiz
Summary: Spike enlists a couple of demons with a Queer Eye to help him win Buffy's affections. Occurs between Intervention and Tough Love, Season Five. COMPLETE. Thanks to all who have reviewed. I have taken on your suggestions and I'm glad you enjoyed.
1. Chapter One

The Best In Me  
  
_Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"  
_  
Savoir-faire: quickness to see and do the right thing; tact.  
  
Spike sat relaxed in his crypt. It was a shame he no longer had the Buffybot to entertain him. Despite the pain of the bruises Glory had given him, he would have enjoyed indulging in his favorite coital fantasies. Instead, he had to settle for watching _Passions_.  
  
He'd finally managed to place the TV aerial just so, in a way that he could properly see the Bennett's house sinking into a large fissure. Just as he was wondering how Timmy would be able to escape from it, there was an insistent knock at the door.  
  
He knew it couldn't be Buffy. She never knocked, just broke down the door and strutted in like she owned the place. He sighed longingly at the thought. There was more knocking at the door, as if by more than one fist at once and he could hear male voices. Who the bloody hell was daring to ruin his enjoyment of _Passions_? He strode across the crypt to the door and tore it open. If it weren't for the chip in his head, he'd bloody well—  
  
A whirlwind of expensive designer clothes draped over two lithe demons whisked around Spike in a flurry of noise and activity. Slowly, it dawned on him that this was the "Savoir-faire Pair" his friend, Clem, had enlisted to help him win Buffy's heart. He'd already impressed Buffy by enduring Glory's torture and keeping the truth about Dawn being the Key to himself. He remembered how Buffy had rewarded him afterwards. Buffy had kissed him softly on the lips, careful not to put too much pressure on the tender places of his battered face. It was because of that measured, butterfly- soft kiss that he had realized she wasn't the Buffybot. It had never occurred to him to have Warren program a kiss like that into the Buffybot. He remembered how feeling her tenderness had sparked wonder in him, like a surge from a naked electric wire. Surely he was close enough to Buffy now that this pair of experts would be able help him win her heart entirely. He reminded himself that allowing Clem to call the gay couple was _not_ an act of utter desperation. Ok. So it _was_. But nobody else need find out about it.  
  
One of them, a mauve-skinned demon with ivory ridges of bone protruding from the back of his skull and neck, was running his hands over Spike's chest and biceps. "We've got some great raw material here. A real rough diamond," he remarked to his companion. In an aside to Spike he added, "I'm Eric and this is my associate, Hugh. Ooh! Am I glad to meet you, you hottie!"  
  
"Hey, wotch it!" said Spike, thrusting Eric's hands away. He looked around, somewhat distressed as the blue-skinned demon, Hugh, infiltrated his abode.  
  
Eric was blinking into the darkness of the crypt and coughing. "Is it just me, or is it really dusty in here?" He ran a finger across the top of Spike's TV then dusted his hands.  
  
"Are those cobwebs?" Hugh asked, horrified, peering into a corner.  
  
Spike watched nonplussed as the duo pried into his most private spaces. He hoped they wouldn't disturb his collection of Buffy-related objects; clothes and pictures he'd collected into a kind of shrine.  
  
"You don't seem to have a kitchen," commented Eric, puzzled. "Oh, wait. I think I found Spike's fridge." He opened it and stared into its bright interior. "Are you aware that the contents of your fridge consist solely of blood and beer?" He tripped over a pile of half empty bottles on the floor. "And apparently your pantry consists of whisky and bourbon." He looked at Spike with a quizzical frown. "Your main food groups are blood and alcohol?"  
  
"Of course they are. I'm a bloody vampire, you git," responded Spike.  
  
"Oh my God!" Hugh interjected, flinging his blue hands into the air. "There's no bathroom!"  
  
"And I thought having the mother of all cobwebs as a window treatment was going to pose a problem," said Eric. "Just breathe, Hugh," he said, giving his blue friend a reassuring pat on the back in an attempt to comfort him. "Deep, calm breaths." He took in a deep breath in demonstration and coughed again.  
  
"Ok, ok. I can still work with this," Hugh said, determinedly. His horned brow furrowed. "How am I going to work with this?" he wondered.  
  
"Spike, if we're going to help you get this girl's attention," said Eric, fingering photos from Spike's Buffy shrine with a neatly clipped claw, "we're going to have to make some changes around here."  
  
"Like toning down your Richard Ramirez tendancies," added Hugh, tartly, with a pointed look at the photos. "Most girls don't really appreciate it when you go all Nightstalker on them."  
  
"Buffy's not like most girls," Spike protested.  
  
Eric turned towards Spike and sized him up with a queer eye. "We're going to work on bringing out the best in you."  
  
Hugh walked over to the Spike's bed and rummaged through the clothes that lay on the end of it. "You wear way too much black for someone with such a pale complexion, do you know that?" he informed Spike.  
  
Eric ran a hand over Spike's head. "Do you always wear your hair like this? It's kind of severe. This wax is so hard, you could wear it as a helmet. Why not try breaking it up for a more casual, tousled look?" He ran the fingers from both his hands through Spike's hair and mussed it up.  
  
"Now listen 'ere!" cried Spike, swatting Eric away once again. "You're here to do a job and to do it well. I don't want Buffy to think I've turned into some kind of nancy-boy, awright?"  
  
"Relax, honey-buns, you're man enough for _me_," replied Eric.  
  
Spike rubbed a hand across his bruised face. It was going to be a long day.  
  
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	2. Chapter Two

Thanks zanthinegirl. I never realized "pants" meant underwear in the UK. You learn something new everyday! I have replaced the word "pants" with "trousers" as per your suggestion.

The Best in Me – Chapter Two  
  
_Between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"  
_  
"Come with me," said Eric, leading Spike out into the sunny grounds of the cemetery. He shielded Spike from the sun with a sturdy, long-stemmed, black umbrella that had a handsome wooden handle and a long, wooden, pointed tip at the other end.  
  
Spike hovered at the edge of the shadow cast by his crypt. "'Ang on a minute," he protested. "Blue boy's still inside..."  
  
"Hugh's going to work on your home environment while we go shopping, precious," explained Eric. "_Capice_?" He spun the umbrella languidly on his shoulder.  
  
Spike hesitated as he thought he heard crashing sounds from within the crypt. Then he reminded himself that he had to make sacrifices for the greater purpose of winning over Buffy. He thought again of the kiss Buffy had given him freely. "Right. Let's go shopping," he agreed.  
  
A black SUV with tinted windows stopped in the parking strip of Sunnydale's more up-market shopping precinct. Across the road, stores were bathed in sunlight but this side of the road was in shadow. Spike and Eric emerged from the vehicle, Spike taking the opportunity to light a cigarette as soon as he was out of the confines of the SUV.  
  
Eric whipped the cigarette out from between Spikes bruised lips with his thumb and forefinger.  
  
"_Hey_!" cried Spike, his annoyance almost strong enough to make him go vamp-faced.  
  
Eric pointed the end of his umbrella at Spike. "Cigarette tips are the nemesis of couture!" he hissed. "You light one of those things anywhere near the clothes you're about to try on and you and this umbrella are going to have a heart-felt moment." He mashed the cigarette between the heel of his Italian shoe and the pavement, then slowly lowered the umbrella. "Move it. Into the store." He pushed Spike towards a tall glass door.  
  
Spike remained wary of the pointy, wooden end of the umbrella as he made his way into the store.  
  
Inside, the space was well lit with polished floorboards below. Chrome racks of men's clothing filled what would otherwise be a Spartan room and white shelves lined the walls. Across the room, a clerk busied himself, folding sweaters on a shelf. His hair was dark and neatly clipped and he had a light, athletic build. He looked vaguely like Will from TV's Will & Grace.  
  
Spike could tell immediately that this was not his sort of place. For one thing, he couldn't spot a jot of leather in the joint. No blacks or blood reds. Just grays, whites, pastels and earthy shades.  
  
Spike snorted with contempt then looked at Eric, expectantly.  
  
"I know what you're thinking," began Eric, "but bear with me. I noticed your wardrobe was a bit unbalanced. I thought this might be a good place to find some pieces that will accentuate your more sensitive side. Bring out something that your would-be girlfriend might be attracted to."  
  
Spike frowned, puzzled. "Sensitive side? I thought I told you I didn't want to be turned into a wet blanket."  
  
"I believe your actual words were 'nancy-boy' which I imagine is a completely different thing, but we're not here to argue semantics." Eric pulled a brilliant white shirt off a chrome rack then reached over to a shelf and lifted from it a baby-blue sweater. "This is cashmere," he said. "Very friendly to the touch," he added, stroking it. "This will make you huggable."  
  
"Huggable," said Spike, raising his eyebrows and trying on the word for size. He imagined Buffy wrapping her arms around him and stroking his cashmere-covered chest. "Spike, you're so _huggable_," she cooed in his imagination.  
  
He returned to reality as Eric shoved a pile of couture into his arms. He looked down at the clothes and then back at Eric.  
  
"Corduroy trousers?" he asked, incredulously.  
  
"Corduroy is a very touchy-feely fabric," Eric argued. "And these are a nice snug fit."  
  
They were the color of wet ashes; the closest thing to black in the store. Spike imagined wearing them, imagined Buffy getting touchy-feely with his corduroy clad thighs. "Awright, I'll try them at least."  
  
Spike looked into the mirrors of the change cubicle he was in. There were mirrors on three sides, creating the illusion of infinite space. He could see his duster hanging on the back of the door, behind him. He could also see his jeans and t-shirt discarded on top of his boots on the floor. What he couldn't see, was his own reflection so he had no idea whether he looked like a total pratt in the clothes Eric had handed him.  
  
"Well? Come on out. Don't be shy!" called Eric from outside the cubicle.  
  
Spike swung the door open and stepped out of the cubicle. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking uncomfortable.  
  
He wore the baby-blue sweater over the white shirt and the dark gray, corduroy pants which pooled slightly around his ankles and his black socks. He felt like a dick.  
  
Eric cooed and oohed and ahhed. "That sweater brings out the blue in your eyes."  
  
He reached over to tuck in Spikes shirt but Spike stopped him, "You're not going there, mate," and did it himself.  
  
Eric didn't loose a beat. He just busied himself turning up Spike's shirt sleeves. Then he handed Spike a black, silver buckled, leather belt and shiny, black leather lace-up shoes.  
  
Spike put them on then folded his arms again.  
  
Eric mussed up Spike's hair the way he had earlier at the crypt. My hair must look like I've just gotten up from wrestling in bloody bed with the Buffybot, thought Spike.  
  
Eric beamed at his work. "Why, I could just eat you up, you English muffin, you!"  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Right. Freak show's over," he announced, shutting himself in the cubicle and reversing the process.  
  
"Baby, we've only just begun," contested Eric.  
  
A long time later, they returned to the crypt. Spike's patience had been worn down to a fine thread and it was all he could do to stop himself from kicking Eric's demon ass, especially since the chip in his head offered no resistance where demons were involved. He kept reminding himself that Eric and Hugh were there to help him win over Buffy but now he'd added another thought: It better bloody work!  
  
Spike entered the crypt, both hands grasping several bags of outfits, toiletries, hair products and groceries. The groceries were Buffy-friendly foods for his fridge. Spike stood on his threshold, gob-smacked at what lay before him, the bags limp in his hands.  
  
His crypt had been transformed. Somehow, Hugh had cleaned it up and turned it into a cozy love nest with carefully arranged lighting highlighting different areas of the crypt. But the "piece de resistance" was the bed. Clad in sumptuous tones of crimson, it was covered in various rich textures. It was also scattered with a myriad of comfortable cushions. The sheets were soft, like silk.  
  
Spike's Buffy shrine was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"The sheets are silk," said Hugh, as though reading his thoughts. "I went with the colors in this red striped shirt I found, since it was the most colorful thing in the crypt... other than the shrine."  
  
"Yeah, wot did you do with my Buffy stuff, anyway?" Spike asked.  
  
"What do you think I did with it? I put it in a garbage bag is what I did," replied Hugh.  
  
Spike felt his ire rising. This better bloody be worth it. It had taken a lot of time and care to collect his Buffy shrine.  
  
"Right. You ponces have done your work now, so if you don't mind, I'll take over from here," he announced.  
  
"No so fast, schnookums," said Eric. "We may have reworked you on the outside, but this girl of yours is going to be judging you on the inside as well. Invite her over. Be sure to romance her. Treat her like a lady. Show a little caring and panache. Don't just beat her over the head and drag her into your cave."  
  
"Oh, please!" scoffed Spike. "I kept one of my lovers happy for about a hundred years. I think I know more than enough about romance."  
  
"If you say so, lover-boy. We'll be watching." It was then that Spike noticed that Eric held a palm-sized crystal ball in his hand. In the centre of the ball, everything that was happening in the crypt at that moment was playing itself out in miniature, as if on a TV screen.  
  
"Listen, if you blokes get a happy wotching couples during private moments," began Spike, looking at the ball, "that's your business but--"  
  
"We'll only be watching you up to a certain point," interrupted Hugh. "At some point during the night it will become obvious whether she's into you or not. If not, we intend to give you some useful feedback that could help you the next time around."  
  
"Well, you're on your own now, bubba," said Eric, giving Spike a friendly embrace. "See you in the morning...if you're alone, that is."  
  
Hugh also hugged him. "Good luck, bro."  
  
And the two demons left.  
  
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	3. Chapter Three

The Best in Me – Chapter 3  
  
_Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"_  
  
Dawn padded downstairs from her room, where she had been having a conversation with her friend, Melissa, and made her way into the kitchen. "Buffy, can I go to Melissa's house?" she asked. "She invited me for dinner and we're going to study for this big geography test that's coming up on Thursday."  
  
Buffy was frowning over a recipe book. Her hair was tied back in a no-nonsense fashion and she was wearing an apron. On the kitchen bench in front of her were gathered a set of small kitchen scales and the ingredients for an Indian butter chicken stir fry and herb potatoes.  
  
"Dawn," began Buffy, and Dawn could tell by the sound of her voice she wasn't pleased, "I was going to cook dinner tonight, remember? For the two of us. I even measured out the ingredients with a measuring thingy!"  
  
Since their mother had died, the girls were still getting used to cooking for only two Summers women instead of three. It was painful making these practical adjustments and Buffy wasn't sure whether her bad mood stemmed from Dawn's request or the pain of knowing they would never have dinner with their mom again.  
  
"I'm sorry, Buffy, but she only just called me or I would have told you sooner, I promise! Please let me go, I just know I'll flunk geography without Melissa's help," Dawn pleaded.  
  
Buffy opened her mouth to reply but she was interrupted by a knock at the kitchen door. Buffy rolled her eyes. She could see through the window in the door that it was Spike. She dusted spices off her hands and opened the door.  
  
"This better be important Spike, 'cause I'm in no mood to—"  
  
"Hi, Spike," interrupted Dawn, waving to him.  
  
Spike nodded back. "Niblet," he acknowledged.  
  
Buffy faltered, noting their exchange. She didn't know exactly how, when or why her little sister and the platinum blond vampire seemed to regard each other as buds but there they were.  
  
The bruises that Glory had inflicted on Spike were still visible on his face. Buffy remembered what he had said to her that night she had posed as the Buffybot. He'd said he couldn't watch Buffy to go through the pain of losing Dawn. He'd said he'd sooner let Glory kill him. When he realized she was the real Buffy, she'd told him what he'd done was real and she wouldn't forget it. It was true. She hadn't forgotten.  
  
"Why are you here?" she asked Spike, tiredly.  
  
Spike remained behind the threshold. Willow had revoked his invitation to the house when Drusilla had come to town seeking him. That had been during a failed attempt to prove his love to Buffy. Since then he had only come to the house to drop off flowers for Joyce.  
  
"I just came to invite you to dinner." He regarded her apron and the ingredients on the kitchen bench. "But I can see you've got plans." He didn't want to piss her off so soon after the kind of truce they'd achieved so he turned to leave.  
  
Buffy shrugged and returned to measuring spices.  
  
"No, wait!" called out Dawn.  
  
Spike stopped and turned back.  
  
"Buffy, why don't you go with him?" asked Dawn.  
  
"Apart from the obvious?" was Buffy's dry rejoinder. But she felt a small twinge of guilt as she saw Spike's bruised face watching her. She had no doubt that Spike had been telling the truth to her that night she'd posed as the Buffybot. He would rather die than inflict real pain on her. Still, she didn't necessarily owe him anything.  
  
"You could take it easy tonight instead of cooking, and I'll have dinner at Melissa's place. Her mom said she'd pick me up and bring me home after," continued Dawn. "You should go with Spike."  
  
Spike pointed and raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Yeah. Wot she said."  
  
Buffy crossed her arms over her apron. She knew she had no good reason to prevent Dawn from studying with her friend. She also knew that she dreaded eating dinner alone in the house so soon after their mother had died. It had been Joyce who had first invited Spike into their home. She remembered how Willow had brought her a bunch of flowers, saying Spike had left them to pay his respects to her mother. She also remembered that it had been both Joyce and Willow who had advised her to shut Spike out. But that was before he'd protected Dawn from Glory.  
  
Buffy untied the apron from around her waist and pulled its halter up over her head, then laid it on the bench beside the spices.  
  
"Alright. You can go," she told Dawn.  
  
"Great!" enthused Dawn, and she ran out and up the stairs to pass the good news onto Melissa who still waited on the phone.  
  
There was a long moment of silence during which Buffy could hear the kitchen clock ticking.  
  
"So...How are you and the Niblet getting on?" Spike finally asked from his side of the threshold.  
  
Buffy turned to him. Spike had to be the strangest vampire she'd ever met. Normally, she wouldn't entertain his desire to be around her, but now that he'd stood up to Glory she was starting to think maybe he would be useful to have around. Why not accept dinner? "So, how does this work? You take me to some demon dive where they serve hard liquor and I listen to you rate the flowering onion?"  
  
"No. I was thinking my place and some quality cuisine."  
  
"The crypt?" asked Buffy, incredulously. Her look said she had serious doubts.  
  
"Just dinner. No strings," Spike urged. He gave her a pleading look with a hint of hunger in it.  
  
"No strings," Buffy parroted, warily.  
  
She agreed to go with him, figuring it would be a fair exchange for any help she might ask him for in the future protecting Dawn.  
  
"If you'd like to change your clothes, I'll be happy to wait," Spike informed her, while they waited for Melissa's mother to pick up Dawn.  
  
Buffy wore blue jeans and a white turtle-necked sweater. "I'm not going to change for you, Spike," said Buffy, matter-of-factly. "But I will go get my jacket."  
  
Buffy went upstairs and put on the black leather jacket Angel had given her when she was sixteen, then she tucked Mr. Pointy up her sleeve and went back downstairs.  
  
After Dawn left, she and Spike headed for the cemetery. When they got there, Buffy noticed a black SUV parked outside the gates. She let the wooden stake up her sleeve slide down into her palm and moved towards the vehicle.  
  
"Uh...I don't think that's anything to worry about, luv," said Spike.  
  
Buffy ignored him and peered into one of the front windows with a hand on either side of her face to block out any reflecting light. The windows seemed to be tinted black and the interior also seemed to be black. The only thing Buffy could see was...well...black.  
  
Buffy straightened up and made a mental note to check if the car was still there when she left the cemetery. Leaving it for the time being, she followed Spike through the gates and slid the stake back up her sleeve with her fingers.  
  
Eric and Hugh watched Buffy walk away from the SUV in which they sat.  
  
"She sure is a curious little critter, isn't she?" remarked Eric to Hugh.  
  
"You know what? I'm really nervous for him!" replied Hugh. "She's not even one of _our_ people."  
  
"Why would he want her to be one of our peeps? Wouldn't that be counter productive?"  
  
"No, not the gay kind of 'our people'. The demon kind of 'our people'."  
  
"Oh! _Our_ people! She's _human_? Oh, God. Now I'm kinda edgy, too."  
  
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	4. Chapter Four

The Best in Me – Chapter Four  
  
_Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"  
_  
Spike opened the door to his crypt for Buffy and waited until she'd gone in before following. He turned on several lamps, one at a time, then turned to take her coat.  
  
Buffy was staring, dazed, around at the crypt. After a beat, she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. She had never seen Spike's crypt look so inviting before. She was actually pleasantly surprised. Distracted by her surroundings, she let Spike take her jacket. While he did so, Mr. Pointy slid out and clattered onto the stone floor.  
  
Spike looked down at the stake and back up at Buffy.  
  
"I invite you to dinner and you bring a _stake_ into my crypt?" he questioned.  
  
Buffy bent down onto one knee and pulled the leg of her jeans up around her calf, then picked up the stake and slid it into her boot. She pulled the leg of her jeans back down and straightened up again. "I always bring a stake with me to the cemetery after dark," she remarked a little defensively, then added, "_Slayer_. Duh."  
  
Spike shook his head and smiled. "Always the Slayer." That was one of the things he loved about Buffy. She was a hunter, like him.  
  
"Place looks homey," she commented casually. "Gay decorator drop in lately?"  
  
Spike almost tripped on a luxurious, red rug on the floor. Did she know? No, he dismissed it. She was just making one of her usual wry comments; a lucky guess.  
  
"Do you like it?" he asked.  
  
Buffy shrugged. She was wondering who he must have robbed to make the place look this good.  
  
Spike shrugged off his duster. Laying it aside, he headed towards the fridge on the other side of the crypt. There was a bottle of wine and two wine glasses on a red cloth beside the fridge. Beside it were bottles of bourbon and whisky, standing neatly in a row.  
  
"Wot would you like to drink, Buffy?" asked Spike, conversationally, picking up the wine bottle and reading its label. "I've got a muscat here, but I can find you something else if you prefer." He looked up at her and saw her quickly avert her gaze.  
  
Buffy realized she'd been staring at Spike since he'd removed his duster. He was wearing clothes she'd never seen him in before. He was wearing a color for once: blue. And it suited him. The soft, knitted fabric clung to his chest and pecs in a way that Buffy found strangely hypnotic. And now that she thought of it, his hair was different to the way he usually wore it as well. It looked softer than usual. For the first time, she realized that Spike was actually...she pushed the word "gorgeous" back into the nether recesses of her mind and grudgingly settled for "good-looking".  
  
Back in the SUV, Hugh and Eric exchanged and knowing look and gave each other a high five.  
  
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to sound casual. "Is your sweater cashmere?"  
  
"I dunno. Some kind o' wool," Spike lied, knowing full well that the sweater had caused Eric to expound, _ad infinitum_, on the merits of cashmere.  
  
"I have a blue cashmere sweater," said Buffy. "That is, I _think_ I still have it. I can't seem to find it."  
  
"So, what's your poison?" Spike nonchalantly changed the subject. Buffy's blue sweater had lain among the contents of his Buffy shrine earlier that day. For the first time, he was grateful for Hugh's discretion in disposing of it and the countless photos and even undergarments he had collected.  
  
"Poison?" asked Buffy.  
  
"Drink," clarified Spike, holding up the bottle of wine and the wine glasses.  
  
"Oh...I'll have water." She didn't want any alcohol blunting her senses if she saw any slaying action that night.  
  
Hugh and Eric twittered over their crystal ball.  
  
"Good, her offered her a drink. Snaps for Spike," enthused Eric.  
  
"But she's not going for the wine," said Hugh, with disappointment. "And it's a very good wine."  
  
"She's a little up tight, isn't she?" suggested Eric.  
  
"I'd say, a _lot_ uptight," said Hugh. "If I were in her place, I'd be a lot more excited."  
  
"Lemme know if you change yer mind," said Spike. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Evian, poured some of its contents into one of the wine glasses and handed it to Buffy. To Spike's disappointment, their hands didn't touch during the exchange.  
  
Buffy cradled the glass in her hands and watched Spike pop the cork from the wine bottle. He poured himself a glass, swished it around and tasted it. "This vino's not bad," he remarked. "Don't know wot yer missin'." He chugalugged the contents of his glass then set it down, empty, on the red cloth by the wine bottle. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, striding over to a corner of the crypt. He crouched down and appeared to start rifling through a collection of vinyl records.  
  
How like a vampire, thought Buffy, leaning herself against the sarcophagus at the back of the crypt. Vinyl records. So retro.  
  
She sniffed the air. Something smelled like soap.  
  
Setting her glass on the floor, she turned and lifted the lid of the sarcophagus. It was wet inside. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla drifted up and filled her nostrils.  
  
"Did you have a bath in this coffin?" she wondered out loud.  
  
Spike looked over his shoulder at Buffy. "Wot?" he asked, defensively. "Not like it's used for anything else."  
  
He paused as he searched through his records. Someone, probably Hugh, had been screwing with them. The Ramones and the Sex Pistols had yellow Post-It notes stuck to them, reading "No". He also found a Barry White record Hugh must have left there. It also had a note stuck to it, but that note read "Yes". Surrendering himself to the gay demons' process, he lay Barry on the turn-table of his record player and set the needle carefully on the track called "I'll Do for You Anything You Want Me To." Soon the mellow sound of Barry's baritone permeated the crypt...  
  
_Nothin' and nobody  
Baby, could ever take or stop  
The love that I have for you  
It's very simple, you see it's  
Baby, it's real  
It's so, so real  
What I feel_  
  
Spike returned to the fridge and rummaged around inside it. "It must be hard," he said, "getting used to your mum being gone and all."  
  
"It is," acknowledged Buffy, sliding the lid of the sarcophagus back into place and leaning against it again.  
  
"Prefer not to talk about it?" he asked, gingerly, pulling his head out for a moment to gauge her expression.  
  
Buffy bent down to pick up her glass from the floor and straightened up again. "I don't mind talking about her. It's good to talk. Means there's a part of her still around. Most of the time when I'm home, I still expect to see her."  
  
"You and your mum seemed close. I was close to my mum, too. But that changed after I became a vampire," said Spike. He took a plate of sushi out of the fridge and carried it out to the red rug in the middle of the floor.  
  
Buffy decided not to ask him about specifics. Chances were he had killed his mother. She sipped her water and felt the chill of it run through her.  
  
"Don't get me wrong or anything. I still loved my mum, but..." He searched for a way to finish. "It wasn't the same," he said, finally. He went to the bed and picked up some cushions then placed them around the sushi on the floor.  
  
Buffy watched the rueful expression on his face. For a demon without a soul, Spike sure did seem to love a lot of people. Or at least he thought he did, thought Buffy.  
  
"Don't have a table, luv, so we're going to have to make the best of it," Spike explained as he made himself comfortable on some of the cushions.  
  
Buffy's stomach growled and she realize how hungry she was. "Down, boy," she told it and curled up on the cushions opposite Spike. "Yummy sushi," she said. She picked up a portion with her fingers, took a bite out of it and chewed it up hungrily.  
  
Spike realized he'd forgotten to put out a set of plates and chop sticks for them to eat with but he decided not to worry about it. He liked the idea of the two of them eating from the same plate and it didn't seem to bother Buffy that she needed to use her fingers. He'd get her some napkins later.  
  
He let her have most of the sushi. It wouldn't provide him with any nourishment anyway. He preferred to watch her enjoyment of the food he'd prepared.  
  
_Uh, ah, can't you see I want it  
Ooh, uh, girl, I've been lon-lonely  
Ooh, ooh, got to, got to hold you  
Ooh, ooh, got to make love to you_  
  
sang Barry.  
  
Buffy looked up from the plate of sushi that she'd almost polished off by herself and realize she was probably making a pig of herself. She saw Spike watching her and wiped the corner of her mouth with her little finger.  
  
"What? Do I have seaweed stuck in my teeth?" she wondered.  
  
Spike smiled, stood up and brought her the napkins, then sat down again.  
  
"I hope your going to feel like something sweet after," he said.  
  
_Can't you feel the fire  
I'm burnin' up from one desire  
The thrill from loving you  
I can't help myself, I swear it's true  
_  
"Uh..." Little cogs shifted in Buffy's head. He does just mean dessert, doesn't he? she thought.  
  
_Please review._


	5. Chapter Fab Five

I didn't know how else to finish this story, so sorry if it disappoints. I tried to stay true to Fifth Season.  
  
By the way, I just had to quote you, Red Wulf, because what you said in your review is _so_ true.

The Best in Me – Chapter Five  
  
_Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"  
_  
Of course he means dessert, she reminded herself, otherwise he would have asked for a slap and tickle or a rough and tumble.  
  
Sure enough, Spike sauntered over to the fridge again and produced from it a bowl of sliced strawberries and a pot of whipped cream. He scooped the strawberries into a tall glass and followed them with the whipped cream, then repeated the process. Soon the glass was filled with alternating layers of red and white. Spike smiled to himself. Some said that strawberries and cream were an aphrodisiac.  
  
He served her the glass with a spoon and watched her scoop its contents into her mouth. When she was done, she scraped the bottom of the glass and licked the spoon, then she put the spoon in the glass and put the glass on the floor.  
  
Buffy unwound her limbs and rose from the cushions on the floor. She stretched her arms and legs and said, "Dinner's over," then grabbed her jacket from where Spike had laid it, and pulled it on.  
  
Quick as a shot, Spike pounced on her, pressing her against the nearest wall. His palms were flat against the wall, an arm on either side of Buffy, trapping her in. "Leaving so soon? Afraid of what you might let loose if you don't? I noticed the way you undressed me with your eyes earlier," he told her, his face leering so close to hers that she could see the taste-buds on his tongue.  
  
"Oh, real smooth, Valentino," remarked Eric, sarcastically, at what he saw in the crystal ball.  
  
"What is he doing? Did he not listen to a word we said?" wondered Hugh. "Pinning her to the wall like a Neanderthal is not what we meant by romance."  
  
The demon duo exchanged a consolatory hug. "We tried."  
  
"Here's what I'll let loose," said Buffy, and slammed her knee into Spike's groin.  
  
While Spike doubled up, Buffy lifted up her jeans leg and reached into her boot with one graceful movement, pulling out Mr. Pointy. She rammed Spike's shoulder with the heel of her boot and sent him sprawling onto the floor. Straddling him, she lifted her stake dangerously above his chest.  
  
Spike chuckled, having recovered with a vampire's alacrity. "Now you're gettin' into it!" he laughed, savoring the warm press of her buttocks and thighs against his body. He enjoyed this game they played. If she really wanted to kill him, she would've done it a long time ago, and he knew it.  
  
Buffy rose, digging her knee into Spike's chest in the process, which he also enjoyed. She strode quickly out of the crypt and slammed the door behind her. Spike sprung to his feet. Tearing the door open, he followed her out into the graveyard. "I'll walk you home!" he called out, as though it wasn't too late to act the perfect gentleman.  
  
Buffy advanced towards the cemetery gates. The black SUV was still there. Ignoring Spike, who had quickly caught up with her, she determined to find out why.  
  
She rocked the vehicle by pushing down on its hood and making it bounce on its suspension. "Anybody in there? Kinda late for visiting hours, don't ya think? There's one way for me to find out if you're in there," she said and raised her elbow towards the driver's side window, ready to bear down and shatter it.  
  
"No, wait!" she heard, faintly from inside. The window slid down slowly and revealed the face of a mauve colored demon with boney growths sticking out of his head and neck. Behind him was a blue demon with dark blue horns in his forehead.  
  
"We come in peace, princess," said Eric. "And you, punkin," he added accusingly to Spike, "was that last move the kind of romance you dazzled your long-term honey with? She must've been a few cherries short of a black-forest cake."  
  
"She wasn't all there in her upper storey," Spike admitted.  
  
"You guys know each other?" queried Buffy.  
  
"Just a couple of ponces who've taken to following me around like lost puppies," said Spike, dismissively.  
  
"It's true. We've been watching honey-buns with eagle eyes," agreed Eric. "But it's a strictly professional relationship."  
  
"We've been giving him a helping, gay hand, girlfriend. Bringing him up to your level," added Hugh.  
  
Buffy had suspected Spike was acting with uncharacteristic civility towards her since arriving at her kitchen earlier, but this was rich. An inquisitive grin appeared on her face. "You hired gay demons to coach you on having me to dinner? Such a Kodak moment, and me without my camera."  
  
She abandoned the SUV and headed home with Spike still on her heels.  
  
After covering several blocks, Buffy trotted up her front porch steps, took her keys out of her jacket pocket and opened the front door to her house. Spike was behind her like a shadow, knowing he had to move fast.  
  
"So that's it? Just scoff the nibblies and you're gone? You at least owe me a goodbye kiss," he fished, expectantly.  
  
Buffy stepped over the threshold as Spike ricocheted off its invisible barrier. The push of it felt slightly elastic to Spike. "C'mon, Buffy," he admonished, pressing his hands up against it. All he wanted tonight was another kiss like the tantalizing one he'd had from her the day Glory had put him through the wringer.  
  
"I think we're even, Steven. What was it you said, again?" asked Buffy. "No strings."  
  
Sod it. Why the hell _had_ he said that, anyway?  
  
He thought of the way he'd caught her staring at him back in his crypt. "I know you've got an itch you can't scratch. Let me in and I'll satisfy the rest of your appetite," he murmured suggestively.  
  
Buffy snapped his head back with a sharp punch in the nose. She didn't lean her shoulder into it, however, because he was still recovering from the wounds Glory had given him. Just as she hadn't forgotten what he'd endured to protect Dawn, she hadn't forgotten what he fundamentally was: a monster that occasionally needed to be put back in his place. Blood spattered against the threshold barrier and back onto Spike, covering his baby-blue sweater with a myriad of red dots. A larger stain dripped down from his nose.  
  
Spike wiped his nose with his sleeve. If Eric was still watching, he was probably having a fit over the state of the sweater.  
  
Buffy remembered the Buffybot. Willow had discovered that it had been programmed with a multitude of positions for satisfying Spikes urges. For a split second she was overcome by a visual of being in the robot's place in one of those positions.  
  
"Over my dead body," she said impassively and shut the door in Spike's face.  
  
He peered through the glass panels in the door. She had her back to him and was moving away upstairs without a backward glance.  
  
"Right. So I'll be seeing you later, then," called out Spike, hopefully, as the crystal ball faded to black and then displayed the logo of the "Savoir-faire Pair".  
  
_The End._


End file.
